


Her Boys

by ImogenPortchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Daddy Kink, Implied/Referenced Underage, M/M, Mary knows, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-28 00:12:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10058429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImogenPortchester/pseuds/ImogenPortchester
Summary: It wasn't what she was expecting to hear coming from the kitchen at 3 am.(Or, how Mary finds out that her boys are sleeping together.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during a long break between classes when I definitely should've been working on my dissertation. Oops.

There is no way to explain it, the sounds she hears coming from the kitchen before she even turns the corner. She freezes where she stands, not able to see what is happening but able to hear clearly.

Dean’s moan is deep and guttural and explicitly sexual. Sam shushes him, “Be quiet, she might hear you.”

“It’s 3am. She’s in bed.”

“Where we should be.”

Dean huffs. “Come on, I’m ready.”

She heard the slap of a hand on bare skin, then some movement, followed by a hitch of breath and a moan, ending on a deep exhale.

“Fuck, Sam. That’s the ticket.”

“You like my cock, huh?”

Dean whines, “Uh huh.”

“Yeah. You like it when I fuck you like this, baby boy?”

“Oh Daddy, I love your cock.”

That pulls Mary out of her frozen state and she hustles back to her room, kicking over a chair in the war room in the process. She doesn’t stop to pick it up but hears concerned voices coming from the kitchen.

She sighs when the bedroom door closes behind her then leans against it for support.

Did she really just hear that? Were they really just…?

She sees the box of photos that Sam had brought her on the desk and she fingers the lid before lifting it open. Her little baby Sammy stares back at her from her own arms. She flips through a few more and winces at one of Sam and Dean sitting leisurely on a park bench, Sam no more than thirteen, with Dean’s arm behind Sam’s shoulders on the back of the bench.

How long has… _this_ been going on? What if Sam was only thirteen the first time it happened? His seventeen year old brother surely would’ve known what he was doing, even if Sam didn’t. Did Dean… molest Sam? _Rape_ him even? And now was it just some power dynamic between them? She knew that Sam and Dean had grown very close in their misplaced youths but were they _that_ close? Codependent, addicted even, to each other’s, what, comfort, presence?

Mary paces over to the bed and collapses, her elbows propped on her knees, face in hands.

If she had lived would this have happened? Did John know? She imagines that they would’ve hidden it from him. After all, they were trying to hide it from her.

A soft knock halts the storm of questions in her mind.

“Mom?” Sam asks.

 “Go away,” she manages.

“We didn’t mean for—“

“I can’t do this now. Please go.”

There are a few moments of silence before she hears Sam’s bare feet retreat down the hall. She imagines him turning the corner into Dean’s room, shutting the door on the pair.

Needless to say she doesn’t get much sleep that night.

~~~~~~~~~~

They are both in the kitchen when she comes out of her room for breakfast the next morning. Sam glances at her then immediately down to the cereal bowl in front of him. Dean, sitting across from him, also avoids eye contact with her as she open the cupboard for the peanut butter. She faces away from them, staring at the cupboard door while she waits for her toast to finish. She nearly jumps out of her skin when it pops up.

With her peanut butter toast in hand, she turns around and contemplates whether to take her food to her room or join them at the table. The safety of her room nearly wins out when Dean says, “Mom?”

Yes, she is their mom. She gave birth to them and they are hers, even if they are fully grown men.

She clears her throat and takes a seat at the table. “Good morning, boys.”

They mumble responses, neither of them chancing a look in her direction. As they push the cereal around in their bowls, only occasionally bringing a spoonful to their mouths, she knows that neither of them is going to approach the subject.

“I know what I heard last night…”

“How much did you hear?” Sam pipes up.

“Enough. More than I should have.”

Dean stands up with his bowl in hand, ready to escape.

“Sit down, Dean,” she orders gently.

He looks at her, agitated, but complies. He visibly holds his breath waiting for her to speak.

“Look. I don’t know how long this has been going on or why you do it, or what it even means. And I can’t say that I understand it. Lord knows I don’t. But—“

“If you’re going to tell us that it’s disgusting or call us freaks or something then save it,” Dean bursts out. “Because don’t think I haven’t thought the same exact things already. But me and Sam we’re… you couldn’t possibly understand.”

“I don’t think you’re freaks, Dean.”

Sam finally looks at her.

“You’re right,” she continues, “I don’t understand… You know, I was just getting used to the idea of being here, alive with my adult sons. And then… well this is quite a wrench you’ve thrown in to the situation.”

They show no visible reactions, simply waiting for her to continue.

“When I was younger, back in my hunting days, I met this couple. Hunters, too. We worked a case together. They were like you. Brother and sister, close in age, grew up in the job. You know, when I was a kid there were times that I wished I had a sibling. Someone I could talk to, someone who I could share this job with, that I could share this life with.” She looks at each of them in turn. “It doesn’t let anyone else in, this life.”

Sam grimaces and Dean sighs.

“It’s like I said. I don’t understand, but I get it. You’re not the only hunters that are… lovers _and_ siblings. This certainly isn’t what I would have ever imagined or hoped for either of you but at least you have someone. That’s more than most hunters can say. I don’t think you’re freaks,” she eyes Dean. “I’m just glad you’re happy… You are happy, right?”

Dean smirks at Sam, raises his eyebrows suggestively. Sam’s face turns redder than a fire hydrant.

“Yeah,” he whispers, smiling back at Dean.

She stands up and leaves the kitchen, is almost out the door when she turns back around.

“One more thing: we eat in here. Please just… not here, okay?”

Sam drops his spoon and Dean busts out laughing.


End file.
